


I don't like Christmas

by KittensAndRage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittensAndRage/pseuds/KittensAndRage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are spending Christmas together, and it's so much better than their previous Christmases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't like Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LunaFromBakerStreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaFromBakerStreet/gifts).
  * A translation of [Nie lubię Świąt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849981) by [LunaFromBakerStreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaFromBakerStreet/pseuds/LunaFromBakerStreet). 



> I translate fics from English to Polish all the time, but this is the first time I did it the other way 'round, so be nice to me. :)  
> Not-beta'ed, sorry, if you find any mistakes, let me know! 
> 
> Enjoy!

“I don’t like Christmas,” said Sherlock, looking through the window. Along Baker Street glimmered Christmas lights, and in the windows there were garlands. People strode down the street with hands full of bags with purchases, occasionally solicited by a young man dressed up as Santa.

“And I really don’t understand what the birth of an ancient prophet has to do with the lights and weeds.” As he was saying that, he pushed away the mistletoe Mrs Hudson had hung over the window that was poking the top of his head. Their whole flat had been decorated by the landlady. She thought that she was forcing the Christmas spirit upon them for ‘their own good’, they thought otherwise. John didn’t have a problem with that. He was banking online to be done with everything before Christmas.

“People don’t look at it that way anymore, Sherlock,” he replied, looking for relevant letters on his keyboard. “Now Christmas is celebrated not only by Christians . It’s more about the tradition, spending time with family, getting gifts for each other, taking a break.”

“Boring.” Sherlock, fed up with the mistletoe, took it off and tossed on the windowsill. “I’m not fond of traditions, avoid my family, don’t want presents, and hate breaks at work.”

John sighed. He knew better than to comment on it. It’s true, his friend was a specific one, and Mrs Hudson had been wrong trying to make him happy against his will. But she was right when she said that Sherlock should at least call his brother or visit his parents for dinner. But John couldn’t judge him. He himself visited Harriet with reluctance, and this year he wasn’t even certain if he was going at all.

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock spoke again. “When I was a child, Mycroft liked to scare me. He always said that if I weren’t a good boy, the Santa’s reindeers would devour me. I had to learn how to read and only then I discovered they weren’t carnivores.” It sounded a little funny but no one laughed. “Parents told me that Santa wasn’t real so I wouldn’t’ve been frightened. Nice of them. They spared me at least one lie that children are told for years.” He took his cup of coffee from the table and leaned against the window frame. He was talking to John, obviously, but he avoided his eyes. John shut the laptop and glanced at his flatmate. Sherlock hardy ever talked about himself, so when he opened, one should be careful and attentive, so the detective wouldn’t feel ignored.

“Every year I asked my parents for books about pirates. Mycroft usually mocked me, so I didn’t like unwrapping the presents. Hiding somewhere and reading was much more fun.”

The fake Santa turned around the corner and disappeared from view, so Sherlock turned around, but still didn’t meet John’s eyes.

“I remember one Christmas that I liked: I got a dog. He didn’t last long, we had to put him down.” He paused, not wanting to dwell on the subject. He was being strangely sentimental, but he wasn’t intending on showing John how much he cared about that dog and how hurt he was, when his friend passed away.

“When I was older, I just rebelled. I didn’t want to help at home or take part in this ridiculous.. farce. Mycroft left for university, and it was more peaceful there, but sitting alone wasn’t better at all, for some reason.” He took a sip of coffee.

There was a bit of silence again, and the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of the clock that stood on the mantelpiece. John didn’t know what to say, Sherlock didn’t want to say anything more out of fear that he would tear up. He had never said so much about himself before, and never such intimate things. He sighed shallowly and put the cup down, as if he came back from a trans. It was hard to pretend all the time to not have feelings.

“So, you see. I don’t have a single reason to like Christmas.”

This time the silence lasted only a moment.

“Me neither.” John looked away. “Father was in the army, so as a kid I spent holidays only with Harry and my mother. Mum was a good woman, but… well. We weren’t close, not really. And with Harriet I just quarrelled,” he sighed. “She always was the rebellious type. She wanted to do nothing, respect nothing. Father wasn’t home, and even if he was, his idea how to bring up his son to be a man wasn’t really pleasant.” He barely supressed a shudder. “As a soldier, father retired early, and that was when the hell began. Harriet was a teenager, she didn’t want to be controlled, and father was aggressive. Christmas wasn’t better. And the worst was the year she decided to come out as a lesbian. They were throwing whatever came into their hands.” From his perspective now it was even funny; his lips cured slightly in a little smile. “At university I tried not to come home for Christmas, and the next few I spent in Afghanistan. So I’m not a fan of Christmas either.”

Sherlock looked at him in disbelieve. John surely figured out that his friend hadn’t had an easy life with his brother if he hated him now. But Sherlock never anticipated that John’s childhood wasn’t made of roses and candy floss, too. He never spoken bad about his family, and he tried to stay in touch with his sister, despite her alcoholism.

“So why are you so nice to Harry?,” asked Sherlock.

“Well, she’s still my sister, after all. But I don’t consider myself a good brother. I could do something more, but I can’t do this if she doesn’t want to be helped.” John looked down. Sherlock saw him hurting. Maybe he dragged out the unpleasant topic unnecessarily. Now he wanted to make it up for him.

“You know, John,” he started, forcing himself to look his flatmate in the eyes. “I’m glad that I have you here this Christmas.”

John looked up and smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Merry Christmas, John.”


End file.
